Want
by rain and leaves
Summary: TSC fic. Deborah doesn't need anyone. Rating for language and ff.
1. Verse

Disclaimer: If you recognise anything, I don't own it.

AN: This is set during The Initiation, before, well, the initiation. The poem is my own, so I dedicate this story to the girl who inspired it. As far as I know, she really _was_ ordinary.

Thanks also go to cyanide blue, whose story Go Ahead prompted me to finally write this little idea that had been going around in my head for a while.

You're Deborah Armstrong, and you've never needed anyone.

Girls hate you and boys fear you – you're proud and fierce, untouched and untouchable and god _damn_ it, you _like_ it that way. You've never needed anyone –

- and if you did, it sure as hell wouldn't be Cassie Blake.

Nick sits and smokes behind you. You pretend to write your essay.

There's nothing special about Cassie Blake. Nothing. So what if she's a half-blood, so what if she's Diana's pet – she's _nothing_. She's just another ordinary Outsider. 

_And I want her._

You hate it, but it's true. At first you thought nothing of her, and then one night you had that dream, and suddenly you could think of nothing _but_ her. 

Plain blue eyes, half-dreaming, half-asleep. Plain brown hair, unless you count the colours - because there are about a million colours in her brown hair. Plain skin, plain clothes, plain and ordinary everything. And yet.

You don't speak, though once she said _Excuse me_, and you said _Sure._

Maybe it's because you're the dark one, you think, maybe it's her ordinariness that fascinates you. Maybe its because you're the one who hurts and hurts and laughs and is wild and cannot be controlled, maybe that's why you want this little white mouse. 

You say nothing to her, but when she enters a room you watch her, and you watch her until she leaves. Faye thinks you're trying to scare her. She thinks its funny.

You think you're going crazy.

You've never thought of girls before, and you don't think of _girls_ now, but you think of Cassie constantly. You wonder what perfume she uses and what her hair looks like when she wakes up. You wonder what she'd look like in your bed, in your arms, what she tastes like . . . 

And then you go outside and you ride your bike as fast and as far as you can until you scare even yourself. 

You can wait it out. In a couple of short years you'll all leave high school, and you'll do whatever you do here, and she'll probably go off to college with the other Outsiders, and you'll never see her again. You tell yourself that it won't hurt when it happens, not like thinking about it does now.

Your paper is covered in twisting black flowers, sharply thorned, and in your spiky scrawl you've written her what you now realise is a poem.

fuck you, bitch - i don't even like you

_follow you round the room with my eyes_

flick your fucking hair like you're so great

_it brushed me once and it was like silk_

yeah and you're so stupid with your lazy looking eyes

_oh god, your eyes . . ._

and your loser friends with their boring little lives -

_i could fascinate you with my dreaming -_

i want you

_oh i want you . . ._

You're Deborah Armstrong, and you've never needed anyone. 

But God, how you _want_ Cassie Blake.


	2. Candle

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's not mine.

AN: I intended Want to be a oneshot, but I was wrong. Song used is Water's Edge, by Seven Mary Three. POV is Deborah's. Also, something weird is happening with my italics, so they're not showing up as they should.

Candle.

You like candles. You've always liked candles, the heat of the wax, the burning wick, the steady oval flame. 

You hate this candle, but that's illogical.

The wick ignites. You think you can hear the ocean, but you probably can't. It's probably just the blood rushing in your veins. Probably just that steady beat of your heart. The ocean growls, implacable and eternal.

^ 'don't go there' I heard her say. ^  
^ 'you can't stomach what you're going to see' ^  
^ It's down there, by the water's edge ^  
^ wasted and bloated and waiting for someone else ^  
  


Your stereo's on repeat. That song goes round and round in your head, round and round in the otherwise still air of your room. This is a white candle, you think. White is all-purpose; white is the colour of purity. Ocean like your blood, white foam like white wax. What are people supposed to think at a time like this?

You stand there, just looking at the candle flame. Beyond it, through the windowpane, you can see silver sky and silver sea. 

^ funny how, these little things come about ^  
^ when you're tied to the teeth and mouth ^  
^ no sound or fury, no shot of pain ^  
^ there was no real reason, no gain ^  
  


You don't realise you're singing along, softly, until the door opens and closes quietly. Nick says, "Hey."

"Hey."

You can't move your eyes, flame and sea filling your vision. Fire and wind and water for Kori, and, tomorrow, earth. All you can think is that you didn't even know her. You want to say as much to Nick, but for now, it's enough just to let the music wash over you.

You're so angry, and so numb, and so confused and even afraid. Kori died. Kori's dead. You didn't even know her, and she's already dead. Things twist and fight inside you, and though it feels wrong, you think of Cassie.

^ I can't go down to the water's edge ^  
^ I didn't do it... I saw who did it ^  
^ Don't go down to the water's edge ^  
^ they did it once and they can do it again ^  
  


"Cassie's in." Nick says. You thought as much. 

"Tonight?"

"Yeah."

Cassie Blake's in. You're going to initiate Cassie Blake, because Cassie lives on Crowhaven Road and because Cassie's one of you and because Cassie's neck isn't broken. It's only when Nick's arms come around you that you realise you said this aloud. 

^ it ain't no secret to me ^  
^ how she got there down by the stream ^  
^ I'd seen her a minute before the van pulled up and opened ^  
^ the door (took all my love) ^  
  


The light's fading. The candle flame flickers. Nick's holding you and you're letting him, and you wish you'd seen the body, because all you see when you close your eyes is blood in Kori's long blonde hair. Just that one song, over and over; just that one image. Just that blood and that hair.

"We'll be twelve tomorrow," Nick says, as if he means something else. 

"We can all be alone together."

You don't know what you're saying, but Nick's warm and that's good. You lean back into him, staring out at a sea the colour of Cassie's eyes.

^ but I can't say a single word ^  
^ about what I saw of her ^  
^ her killers...they got their friends ^  
^ in familiar places, I tell you man ^  
  


"We're going to get whoever did this," you say. Nick doesn't reply. You know he's furious too, anger with that edge of fear and hate, that cold fury that anyone had dared to hurt our kind. One of us.

Sometimes you wish you were like other girls and could cry, but you can't; you're just not made that way. 

The music crashes on. You hear Nick murmuring the words under his breath.

^ this ain't no fucking game ^  
^ and I'm feeling so ashamed ^  
^ because I didn't do anything ^  
  


Tonight, you're coming for Cassie.

^ I swear . . . I swear . . . ^ 

^ I didn't do a thing ^

Tomorrow all twelve of you will bury your dead.

_^ I should have done ^_

_^ Something ^_

For now, Nick holds you.

And you let him.


End file.
